Her ring. She’s left her goddamn ring.
No… she’s leftme.
A quick search of the walk-in closet, hangers missing, her drawers mostly empty. I slam the last one shut, biting back a curse, and reach for my phone.
It rings twice, then goes to voicemail. I know damn well it takes six rings before her voicemail kicks in; she rejected my call.
I send her a WhatsApp.Vicky, where are you?
And the message sits there with one grey tick. Sent, not delivered.
I stare at my phone.
Just that afternoon, DeLuca had been clear: my future career was dependent on me being married. And I’d told him we would be, soon.
That is now looking a lot less likely. My fiancée has left me, and blocked my number.
Fuck.
Three
Vicky
There are no messages waiting from Alex when I wake in Carol’s spare bedroom.
Which is irritating. I would’ve at least expectedsomethingwhen he found my ring.
Oh… of course. He didn’t even come home. He spent the night in his goddamn city apartment, closer to the office, because he worked too late.
Seven becomes ten becomes not coming home at all. On my birthday, of all days. Promises broken every step of the way.
I shake my head and laugh at the absurdity of it all. It’s either that or cry, and laughing hurts a little less.
It’s tempting to stay in bed and feel sorry for myself, but his utter failure to recognizeme at all at least proves I did the right thing. And that helps me find the strength to rouse myself.
I pull on my robe, following the smell of coffee to Carol’s kitchen.
“There you are! How are you feeling?” She leans against the kitchen counter, dressed for the day, holding a cup.
“Like nothing will ever be the same again… unless I get some coffee right now.”
She starts to look concerned, then catches up and scowls. “You’re not the quitting type.”
“You’re damn right. And I haven’t quit; I’ve moved on.”
“Exactly my point.” She gestures to the pot of coffee. “Mugs in the cupboard above. Help yourself.Mi casa es su casa.” She sets her own down and picks up her bag instead. “Some of us have to go to work…” She pauses, eyeing me with her head at a slight angle. “Unless you need me to stay?”
“No, of course not.” I flap my hand at her. “I’m fine. You do you. Sorry I’m… intruding.”
“You’re not,” she says firmly, coming over to give me a brief one-armed hug. “I’ll be back about seven. Dinner then?”
Tears threaten at the irony of that, and again I choose laughter. Carol must think I’m mad; it carries a hysterical note. “Seven is fine.” Or ten. Any fucking time, so long as it’stoday.
She gives me side-eye, then nods slowly. “All right. See you later. No sharp knives, no medicinecabinet, no matches.”
“Get lost.” I give her a cheesy grin to show I’m fine, even if we both know I’m not.
“I’m going, I’m going.” She pauses at the door. “There’s bread for toast and… wine in the fridge. Help yourself.”
